Malay Pikul
by Golden Skans
Summary: In these pages, are the life and times of Edward Anthony Masen Cullen. Circa 1918 to 2005.


**Meet my new story, Malay Pikul. This is the story of Edward's life from 1918 to 2005, so, yes, it is long. For those who don't know what it means, Malay Pikul is**_** the greatest load a man can carry. **_**I thought it was a fitting title for the story, since it shows many aspects of Eddie himself. I put a lot of time and effort into this story (it took me nearly a week to finish) so I'd really appreciate a review and criticism. **

**Twilight and New Moon ideas and characters © Stephanie Meyers. Story © Golden Skans.**_**  
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_**the early years**_

i.

A bead of moisture slowly forms and carelessly makes its way from her brow to her cheek to her chin, where it falls hap hazardously to end in a miniscule pool at her feet, one that no one would notice. But he _does_. He licks his lips surreptitiously, an unconscious gesture as he stares at her from across the room, through the bleary window. The detail he sees her in is astounding, yet so monstrously alien that it enthrals him in an utterly frightening way. He shouldn't _be able_ to see so much, yet he can and he _loves_ it. The foreign things his mind can now recall when once he did not even know of it's existence—the dust that coats every surface, gleaming or not; the subtle wrinkles on every persons skin, young or old; the swirling mass of colors in every persons eyes—it was amazing. Eyesight was never _meant_ to be this clear.

It's not _natural_.

His mind hums, a feeling he had become accustomed to, recently, yet a feeling that subconsciously reminded him every second of his life that _he_ wasn't _human_. He often resented it, having that faint reminder in the farthest reaches of his mind that he wasn't like everyone else. Humanity and himself were so far apart that he often felt he had to scream to be heard on that side of the shore; but it was all a futile endeavor, in the end. He would never be understood on _that_ side.

He once again resumes his observations of the young woman; his dark eyes unremittingly and unabashedly observing her every movement. From the way her hair shone as it caught a hint of the dim light flickering above her head—only he could_ hear_ the sound—the way her hip pushed out in a more suggestive way if a male with seemingly _'good looks'_ walked by, the pout of her bottom lip as they passed her by. He watched, almost enthralled.

They were just so _fascinating_ now.

ii.

At times, he felt almost _duplicitous_, knowing what they wanted him to say, and saying it will all the charm and innocence of the perfect _gentleman_. If only they knew how wrong they were. Humans, he had come to realize after a while, were just all too trusting; they would give you their heart if you told them what they wanted to hear, and many did. At first, he thought it almost a cunning way to go about trickery, yet now he found it deceitful and almost demoralizing.

It wasn't his idea; this idea of _mingling_ in society, it was his fathers; and yet, here he was, embracing it with too much enthusiasm. Talking to strangers, yet answering with all the right answers, muttering sins while their minds were screaming praise and prayers at him. They all thought of him—"_I've finally found my soul mate"_—as their match. Their _other_, the missing part in their life. All of them, even if the age difference was so vast that counting on fingers no longer achieved the right feeling.

He ended the night in the corner, his eyes shadowed over from the unruly hair that would never change, not in his entire existence. His mind tried desperately to rid the thoughts of humans searching for him—"_where did my love go to?"—_yet he seemed to blend perfectly into the darkness of the wall and he quietly thanked the dim lighting and the _human_ vision they all had. His father, the caring, doting man who had given him this life, watched him from the corner of his eyes, wondering if the bloodlust was all too much for him. It, in fact, was quite the opposite.

Flesh and blood had never repulsed the boy more.

iii.

"This is Esme, Edward."

The voice pulled the boy out of his reverie momentarily, but he wasn't surprised; he had heard the murmurings of Carlisle's mind a time before he had actually manifested himself in the room. He turned then, seeing the blond man with his new partner—"_I love her, Edward"_—that he had also condemned to his life—"_can you damn her for eternity because of love?_—out of love. _Love._ What was it? A false illusion presented by the mind when you find someone physically attractive? Or was it when you have a swell of feeling for a person, whether it be anger, hatred, sympathy or pity?

He didn't know; he didn't _believe_.

"Pleasure." His hard voice cut through the tense air as if a knife cutting through slightly warm butter. He ground his teeth together at the mention of _food_, something he couldn't eat. It, of course, didn't matter that as a person, as a living, breathing, functioning _person_, he hadn't even eaten butter, or liked it; no, it was the reasoning that whether he liked it or not, he would never get to _try_ it.

"Carlisle has told me all about you…" As she trailed off, he hung his head; the illusion of shame. He dared not actually say—not even to himself—that he had emotions, for he believed emotions to be a _human_ instinct, something he no longer had the luxury of having. He had stopped feeling things when his heart had stopped beating.

The dead couldn't _feel_ like the living could.

iv.

"Edward, please," Carlisle sighed. Edward looked at him, the cold and listless eyes that had been so for a decade now, piercing his very soul. The bronze haired boy was no doubt analyzing his thoughts, decoding everything until it meant so little. "Try and be polite, _decent_ at the very least."

The younger snorts, a sarcastic sound, but a sound nonetheless. More than anything that had been heard in the past year or so.

"_Try_."

He raises and eyebrow, pursing his lips in a way that would infuriate so many others. The blond merely frowns, his mind resisting the temptation of cursing him.

"Do not _beg_ me."

_**the rebellion**_

i.

He stalked the streets, his eyes shielded against the curious onlookers, the ones who found themselves staring; ogling him as he passed. Their voices told their unspoken desires and he sped up his pace to create a wider distance from them and him. Their minds could only scream so far.

ii.

"To be burdened with perfection," he muttered, his tall frame staring out at the night, a bitter wind forcing its way through the small space between the sill and the base of the window; yet he feels naught. He can distinguish every imperfection the world before him has to offer, every crack in the sidewalk—nearly four stories below him—and see the chips in the bricks holding the old buildings up. Yet, he is not here to view the flaws this town has to offer; he is here to find his next prey.

To _take_ another life.

His blinding beauty made it easy to entice even the meekest of human females; all of them enthralled by his looks, his voice, his _smell_. He heard from their thoughts how _irresistible_ his scent was, pleasant to a dizzying degree. Yet another vampire trait that he had learned to loathe to his very core.

The males were a different story; not so easily enticed, not so prepared to be led away. Yet, in the end, who were they to say no? Though, he didn't lure his victims the way others did, he merely gave them the opportunity to _take him_. The murders, the rapists, they were all willing to have a go at him, or any bait he placed for them. Deceitful, yes, but necessary. Was it not better to trick than be tricked?

He thought so.

iii.

The trickle of liquid down the pale cheek of a victim and he's quenched. The sensation as the warmth of the blood seeps within him leaves him tingling in a sensation of impure pleasure. He should not feel as such, yet he does. He enjoys the slight prickling of his exterior as he feels their warmth before he takes it away for his own, he enjoyed the soothing feeling as the oozing liquid took the subtle burning feeling away from the back of his throat,

A lick of his lips for any excess, and he observes what lays before him; a corpse. Something that once lived, and now does not. He ponders, if just momentarily, if it is like what happened to him; their life was taken away in a duration of pain and fear. There was only a single difference, one that made him a murderer and his father a _savior_ they called him; this man was never to walk the earth again.

For he was dead; but he would not awake.

iv.

He surveyed the space around them, casting out his senses to be sure that none would wander upon them in a time that would serve no one as any use. He seated himself on one of the old boxes in the darkness, the ones that should have been sent to the landfill a long time ago, yet have remained where they were; discarded and forgotten.

As he waited for his prey to round the corner, the unsuspecting female held tightly to his side; the vampire wondered if he should. If he _wanted_ to. Need was a completely different matter; as he already knew he didn't need to _drink_ from this soon to be rapist; he had fed on a murderer—the sound of his _screams_ as the knife he had wielded broke when it hit his skin still lingered in the forefront of his mind—just two days ago. A lofty, big man, his blood should have satisfied him for longer than this. And yet, here he was; waiting to kill. Awaiting his prey; very few predators have the _blessing_ of having their kill come to them.

_I'm more inhuman than I thought_, he sighs to himself. He had come to realize, over the years, the oxy moron that was killing with a conscience. You could not claim yourself good, for you have killed, but you cannot turn cheek and simply call yourself evil, for you had saved someone. Edward found himself in limbo, as they said, and realized that he felt a greater sense of grief at taking a life, than a sense of fulfilment at saving one.

He decides that _no_, he doesn't need this kill, but before he can set his feet gently, silently, to the ground now a few feet below him, the two round the corner.

_One last kill_, he thinks. _One last save._

_**the 30's**_

i.

"How have you done it?"

"One day at a time," Carlisle replies, his gaze firm on his son, though he wonders if that is what the boy wants to be called. "It may seem like a long—"

"An eternity," the younger cuts in, his brow creasing in a gesture of annoyance; _frustration_.

"—time, but you will get through it," he finishes, his frown now firm. Estranged son or not, he _cared_, no more than he should, about this boy before him. If boy was even the correct term to be used for such an individual.

"You may still call me son," the voice spoke, velvety smooth, yet with an edge that is in the sound of only the ones who despise the noise seeping from their lips. "But not boy. _Boy_ makes me sound young and naïve, but I feel I am neither. Not anymore."

The frown on the others face deepens, yet he can only nod. What else _is there_ to say?

"Nothing."

And that, _that_ is the only reply.

ii.

"She does not want this!"

"Edward, _please_," Esme cries, her voice on the edge of desperation. "Simply try and be _helpful_. That's all we're asking."

The glare the proceeds her words is one made the skin crawl on all those near. One could only be thankful that looks did indeed, _not kill._

iii.

He looked at her, curiosity evident in his eyes as his mind mentally laughed at the situation. Her beauty was astounding, yes; of course it was. She wasn't _human_ after all, but her mind simply turned her beauty into something malicious. The complex nature of her hatred interested him in the most stoic nature. _He_ had once thought that way; hating what he was, what he'd become. _Resented_ it with every fibre in his being; yet she, _she_ was thinking of the things she couldn't get to do because of—_"I am like a sin"_ her mind called—this curse Carlisle had bestowed upon her.

She was selfish, more so than him, and it only caused him disease and frustration to be near her.

"They thought us to be together," Edward murmured, rolling his eyes to the heaven in a sarcastic manner. The mere _idea_ the two of them, _together_ no less, was laughable. And so he did just that, he laughed.

"Do you find this funny?" she snapped, glaring at him; an inhumanly gorgeous scowl on her face. "I am a monster, and here you laugh at the prospect of being with me!"

Her mind was screaming words she didn't dare say, and he presumed she had either forgotten of his dark gift, or was quite aware and simply didn't feel like voicing the somewhat vulgar words streaming from her mind.

"It's not that," he said, shrugging in an indifferent nature. "You'll get over that part, and I would know; it took me nearly fifteen years to overcome the sensation of horror in me whenever I so much as thought about what I had become. And, when you do get over it, you'll find the humour in it all."

She simply continued to glare, though her mind stopped spewing obscenities about him. Se pursed her lips and turned to leave the room, but stopped momentarily in the doorway.

"When that does happen," she hissed, spinning briefly to look at him. "I'll be sure to inform you, and we can just have a nice laugh about it, alright?"

iv.

As the all too familiar scent filled his nostrils and all of his instincts corrupted his mind until there was no logic left; he leapt and sought out the origin of this smell. This _feeling_.

As he darted down the stairs, his mind in a haze; he felt another body collide with his own, and the loud accompanying noise was enough to send him to his senses; and he stilled when he saw Esme standing before him; a guarded expression on her face.

_She's found someone._

v.

His mind was a confused mess of jumbled thought and emotions, but one thing was blatantly clear in the seemingly dense mind of the large man that was Emmett. He utterly and irrevocably loved Rosalie.

And, after no more than two years, he, Edward, was once again the black sheep. The _lone wolf._

vi.

"So, Eddie…" A light growl sounded in the room and the bigger bit his lip to keep his laugh from spilling from his lips; but his mind gave him away.

"Do _not_ call me Eddie, Emmett," he snapped, his eyes narrowing infinitesimally. He was not one to be beckoned to with _pet names_. Least of all by a newcomer who was as intelligent as he was short. "Or shall I simply call you Emmy?"

Peels of laughter encircled the two as they shot each other devastatingly nasty looks from across the room. A small smirk was placed on the bronze haired vampire, but the other only scowled. His pride was too easily hurt.

"Funny," he growled, his deep voice booming in the room despite it's substantial size. Everything about him was simply _huge_. Almost _too_ big.

In the end, however, the two themselves couldn't help but chuckle at their own antics.

"You two have pet names!" a laughing voice called out.

Their smiles were lost.

_**The 40's**_

i.

As the war raged around him, he felt all but useless. Joining the force was distinctly out of the picture, what was he to do in a blood bath but follow his instincts?

And as it continued, he slowly shut himself away; he could only bear his own remorse, not his and the remorse of the people around him. _That_ was simply too much.

ii.

The sounds that came from the old record player soothed; yet did not fully calm. He was tense, his eyes often darting here or there at the slightest suggestion of a noise. He was on edge, and it was slowly driving him crazy. His mind was far too overwhelmed, the thoughts streaming from others as they lost the control; too wrapped up in their own troubles to start to care about his.

Music, that was his resolve. The sweet melodies of the hopeful, as they sang for their friends and family locked in a battle thousands of miles away.

_Hope _and _music_ was all he had left.

iii.

"Carlisle has been called out as a field doctor," she sighed, her eyes averted downwards. Her mind was gently weeping at the prospect, even though they all knew there was no real danger. "He'd rather we…stayed."

"Why?" The question had rung out in everyone's mind, and yet the blond vixen was the only one who voiced it. "What does it matter if we're here or with him? We could _help_."

"No." The authoritative voice of the father figure sounded firm, yet the gentleness crept in as the overwhelming feeling of _caring_ entered him. He had a _family_. "You're too young, you couldn't control yourself if something were to happen."

A huff and a roll of the eyes and she's gone, her flowing mane billowing out behind her; her partner scampering along after. _Too young_, she thought. _Too inhuman, he meant._

It was a bitter thought, but she was a bitter person; she may never accept what she had become, despite what others told her, what others _said_. Belief was not her strong point, and she often gave the cold shoulder to things that may well be true, but if it didn't seem likely—_just give it time_, they said—it didn't matter.

Silence was all that followed, silence except for the natural noises that only their attentive ears could pick up. What were they to do, to _say_, in such a situation? To go about the usual course of the day was a futile attempt, so none even bothered to try. The thought of separating; it was daunting. The world was smaller to them, yet distance larger.

He thought of a single thing, and it came out before he thought better of it.

"Good luck, father."

iv.

It was over, and the celebrations that the mortals had were heart warming, even to them; the ones who had distanced themselves from war as best they could. The family reunion had been short, but the sense of _family_ had been there. They were once again complete, a whole. Though their relations much different from that of the people around them, it was stronger; they had a deeper connection.

When he arrived; he'd said _"I'm home_", and they realized, no matter where they were, if they were together, it was home.

v.

"I would learn to better control myself," he sighed, and the defeat was clear. He was too far into desperation to feel the stab at his pride, and he never had an ego to begin with. "Teach me, father."

Contemplative, the elder only observed his oldest son; pride clearest in his eyes, though the hints of other more subtly portrayed emotions lay hidden there as well. He had always admired his sons ambition—it was one of his better traits—yet the amount of courage he had never met with his own expectations. He was often met with his own disappointment, and times after only led himself up for failure; he didn't fair well to heartache.

"I do not know if I am the one to teach you such," was the answer. The other stood then, rising in all the grace of an angel yet he had never felt farther from it. There, in the room, he fought with his inner demon—the _monster_ that lay just hidden under the surface—and struggled to control himself. Struggled to _reason_ with himself. He hadn't been near a human in over ten years and yet, their scared eyes and screaming thoughts burned in his mind as if they were slain only yesterday.

"If not you, then who?"

Questions. He was so full of questions, but not one had the answers. He heard the beating of a heart from a passing human, miles away, and could almost feel the flow of the warm liquid passing through his lips and a '_why?'_ is all he can utter. What else is there to say when you're so inhuman it hurts.

"Yourself."

_**the 50's**_

i.

He heard their minds as they gently tapped on the door, and apprehension filled his body. _To what do we owe this pleasure?_ he thought snidely, resisting the sneer that threatened to curl up his lips. Tall, strong, arrogant; the man was like a dictator, not one to please. The other; petite, nervous, yet unwavering; more welcoming to the _prospect_ of it all. And they were inseparable.

ii.

"_Alice_."

"_Jasper._"

The one stuck her hand out, smiling a small, cautious smile that Carlisle—_"what a kind man"_ she'd thought—happily returned while giving her a firm hand shake. The other, merely observed, surveying it all and mentally forming a plan of what to do if anything unfortunate were to befall his beloved.

Edward laughed at the idea of it.

A raised eyebrow and the mans brain began to quickly decipher what he was feeling from the bronze haired boy with the glint in his eyes that made him incomprehensible. He was a mystery, there was nothing coming from where he stood. He was a void.

"How right you are," he mumbled, a rueful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth; but inside he seethed. "But you should not worry, we do not mean to harm you. She knows this," he added, as he noted how she mentally agreed. _A visionary,_ he mused, but said nothing of it.

"How am I to trust you?" The obvious tone of interest and hesitation were there; but his mind was slowly deceiving him. _Perhaps he is right, after all?_

"Time," he cooed, shrugging as he turned and made his way for the door, planning on leaving for a little hunt of his own. He had a feeling he wouldn't be leaving them by themselves any time soon. _He_, Jasper, would be worse than a newborn vampire; his eyes still sparkled a violent shade of red. "Besides, she's keen on the idea."

He only laughed as he heard a grumble echo throughout the room.

iii.

"Stop thinking about it!" A snarl, a throaty growl and all eyes were on him. The boy flinched, the emotions of the angered Adonis settling in and hitting home. He sighed, an unnecessary gesture, yet a calming one, all the same. He had always found it a shame, that his own gift didn't work particularly well on himself. He tried in a more than futile attempt to clear his mind, yet it didn't work, his thoughts were there, screaming at him to kill. Attack the weaker ones.

"Edward, please." The father figure spoke up. "It will be hard for him, you know how hard it was for you. Give him time, its only been two years…"

"He's giving himself over to his animal instincts!" Frustration stopped the sensible part of his mind from keeping his mouth shut. "He's barely trying! He doesn't even want to feed of animals! He wants to be a monster! If it weren't for her" –an angry point of a finger and tempers begin to rise—"he wouldn't even be trying!"

The one being spoken of glanced unsurely at his lover, only to see her with the blank look across her face, her eyes shut tightly as yet another precognitive episode shoots before her eyes. Shutting his eyes, he attempts to block out the world, sending calming waves flowing throughout the room. Soon, there is only silence to him.

Silence and thoughts that never stop pulsing in his mind.

iv.

The tension was beginning to be too much, and he often escaped to find his own form of solace. The thoughts of his family often haunted him, no matter where he went – but they couldn't follow him nearly ten miles north.

He sat on an old decaying log, and simply surveyed his surroundings; he did not come out here to think. His mind was slowly driving him crazy, and he found himself over analyzing more and more unnecessary things. He felt his own spontaneity and freewill blowing away in the gentle breeze that also caused his hair to sway so gracefully across his face. It danced, and he hated it.

It had more freedom than he himself did.

_**until the end**_

i.

The music was slowly becoming worse, and he found himself resorting to old classics instead of new favourites more and more often. What was happening? Why was everything all of a sudden dwindling away?

He created more music now than he listened to it. His piano became his number one accomplice as he felt himself drifting further from the loving couples in his own so-called family. He felt out of touch, like he was stuck back in the twenties while everyone around him spun into the sixties with as much grace and poise as only vampires had. He wasn't accustomed, he wasn't used to it. It frightened him, of course, but he would never show it. Who would he discuss his inhibitions with? Certainly, the people in his family would listen; they would care, but would they understand?

He didn't think so, and truly, that was all the mattered.

Until the day he decided to find someone who would understand him, which he assumed would be no time near, he was whole within himself. He not only felt complete, he _was_ complete; if only slightly confused and unsure. He kept up his pride by simply reminding himself he was born in a time where emotions were not to be displayed, and that it took time to get ones self away from those old habits. And being out of the social 'circle' as they called it, well, that certainly did not help.

So he would sit, and play his music; letting all his fears escape through his quick fingers, out onto the ivory keys and into the air around him. By the time it had settled in, he no longer worried about it. It faded just as the music did.

ii.

They were moving. Again. Packing up everything and shuffling it away to some new home, where they would build new identities and make a new life. At first, he had opposed, yet now, he barely remembered where they had come from by the time they reached their destination. And what's more; he hardly cared.

iii.

"Do you ever miss sleeping?" The pixie frowned, her eyes showing her thoughts as clearly as anything.

"I don't remember sleep," she muttered, frowning now. He sympathized with her; though his human memories were as good as gone, he still had brief sensations left in his mind; such as sleep and dreams. And _cold_.

"You remember nothing, then?" He tried to keep the pity out of his voice, yet it managed to sneak its way in. He mentally cursed himself as she scowled.

"Nothing," she snapped. The subject was dropped.

"How did you meet Jasper?"

As her mind replayed it for him, his stomach clenched and a pressure built inside of his chest that made it hard to breathe. He _wanted_ that.

iv.

The bubbly nature of his newest sister was slowly spilled into him and causing him to act out of character. He followed her, running slower than he pleased, as she led him somewhere unknown. They had taken to going on excursions together, either in the form of hunting trips or simple runs through the woods. She was helping him come out of his shell, as she so often joked.

He watched as he small legs propelled her forward, the wind blowing her short black hair so it rustled ever so slightly – it was too short to _billow_. Her steps were fluid, she pranced instead of stepped. It was like she was leaping instead of running, she was graceful where he was more aggressive.

He watched and momentarily forgot himself, and continued to watch her as she ran. In fact, he barely registered if she _was_ running.

v.

Things were starting to get better; truly he believed he would be peaceful for the rest of eternity.

vi.

coda

And as she sat next to him, and he smelt the bittersweet essence that permeated off of her like a syrup of the finest elixirs, and he felt the venom ooze into his mouth with a vengeance, and tensed as the demon inside awakened, he was ruined.

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**Once again, I'd love a review. I hope you liked the story!**

**- GS.**


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